


Let's Fade Away Together One Dream At A Time

by storming_killjoy



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - The Youngblood Chronicles, Death, Demon Patrick Stump, Gen, Murder, Save Rock and Roll (Album), The Youngblood Chronicles - Freeform, Violence, Where Did The Party Go? (Song), Youngblood Chronicles, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 13:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storming_killjoy/pseuds/storming_killjoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>The moment he heard the door be thrown open with such force that it ricocheted off the adjacent wall was the moment when Joe could honestly say that his heart stopped.</em> </p><p>My take on the ending of the music video for Where Did The Party Go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Fade Away Together One Dream At A Time

**Author's Note:**

> This story is entirely fictional, and I do not own any of the characters, or the Youngblood Chronicles concept.

The moment he heard the door be thrown open with such force that it ricocheted off the adjacent wall was the moment when Joe could honestly say that his heart stopped. 

His breath became hitched in his throat, and he shrank even further into the cupboard that he had hurriedly shut himself in just a minute before, trying to make himself smaller, as if that could save him now. Prayer after prayer ran through his mind; despite his firm lack of belief in any higher being actually existing, let alone watching over him, he found himself bargaining with who or whatever was out there to let him live. 

_Please, please, I'll do anything, please._

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud shout - or, more accurately, a loud roar - from Patrick, sounding as though he were still stood by the entrance to the room. Well, it wasn't really Patrick, Joe quickly reminded himself... It was some fucked up version of his band mate, his best friend. The girls had tortured and twisted his mind to the point where something had snapped. The pain they had put him through had broken him entirely.

And now here the band were. Running and hiding from their best friend. Fighting for their lives because of what they did to Patrick.

A crash sounded, making Joe jump as he suddenly realised that Patrick had approached the long row of cupboards and was opening them one by one. 

_Dear god, no, no, please no._

The guitarist held his breath, biting down on his lip so hard that he tasted blood, careful not to make a single sound.

A scream only escaped from his mouth when Patrick tore the door of his cupboard open.

Next thing he knew, a bloody hand was reaching for his throat.

On instinct, Joe shoved his band mate hard in the chest, causing the pair of them to stumble to the floor in a heap. He felt his nose break as it collided painfully with the concrete. Struggling to get back to his feet, he became aware of Patrick towering over him, casting a dark shadow over him. Joe glanced up, momentarily spotting the hook that the girls had replaced his left hand with; the silver glinted in the hospital room light. His gaze drifted to Patrick's eyes, which also glinted - yellow - as he leaned closer to Joe, who found himself unable to move. A faint animal-like snarl was coming from low in Patrick's throat. 

Finally, Joe managed to snap out of his daze long enough to place his hands on Patrick's shoulders, pushing him away. The man roared once more as he fell back against the sideboard. Various pieces of medical equipment were shoved off the table top, the metal instruments clattering loudly as they hit the floor one by one. Each smash rang in Joe's ears as he scrambled towards the door. The second his fist clenched around the handle, he felt a sharp metal object – that fucking hook –scraping against his shoulder, and then Patrick was shoving him away from the door. 

Joe couldn't be entirely sure how they ended up the way they did - with Patrick staring him down menacingly from the other side of the large black chair that sat in the centre of the room, and him backing away slowly. Near silence descended on the two; all that could be heard were Patrick's occasional growls. Joe's heart thumped against his ribcage as he struggled to take in air, but in this short moment of quiet, he saw a chance, and grabbed at it desperately.

"Patrick," he began as calmly as he could. His voice was a mere croak, and the words wavered weakly, though he continued determinedly; he could have sworn he saw a faint trace of recognition in the demon's eyes. "Patrick, this isn't you, you have to listen to me. Fight it, fight whatever the fuck they've turned you into. I know you're in there somewhere, please, just stop. You're not this, you're you. You're Patrick, and I need you to snap out of it, please..."

Joe was cut off by Patrick's scream. The sound rang around the room, possibly even the entire hospital, and within it there was so much rage and pain that shouldn't have been there. Not in Patrick. He was too good for any of this.

Then Patrick was running towards him at full speed. Joe ducked down and reached for the first thing he saw by his feet - a tangle of black wires, some piece of hospital equipment used for god only knows what. He grabbed them in shaking hands, stretching them out to their full length in front of his body. By some miracle, he managed to protect himself with them for a few seconds, using them to push Patrick back.

But Patrick took a swing at his arm, wounding Joe, and enabling Patrick to shove him down onto the leather chair in his weakened state. Joe's grip on the wires loosened; Patrick took a hold of them, tangling them in his own bloody fingers, and began to wrap them around Joe's body. The guitarist fought back with all his strength, struggling furiously, but it was in vain - he was bound to the chair, arms restrained. All he could do was kick out with his boots.

That was when Patrick used what was left of the wires to wrap around Joe's neck.

"Get off, Patrick, stop, snap out of it... HELP! Someone help me, please, get him off... I... I c-can't..."

Soon, no more than a strangled noise could escape from Joe's throat as the wires constricted his oesophagus. He gasped for air like he was a fish out of water, desperately fighting to get oxygen into his lungs. Patrick was spread out on top of him, pressing himself down hard on Joe's chest and tightening his grip on the wires so that they choked him further.  
He couldn't breathe.

In some sick, cruel irony, Joe's best friend was murdering him with his own weapon.

He was dying.

His life did not flash behind his eyes like it was rumoured to when you finally met your match. But, as he started to lose consciousness, as his eyes began to droop shut, he did see a few things... or, more specifically, he saw people.

He saw his wife. He said a silent goodbye to her.

He saw his daughter. Her happy, smiling face looking up at him, looking up to him because he was her dad, and dads could do anything. She was so wrong.

He saw his bandmates. He saw their blood-caked and bruised faces. He saw Andy's scared brown eyes, the ones he'd seen earlier when they had run as fast as they could into the hospital. Pete's terrified cry of "split up! Try and find a phone. We'll meet back here soon, ok? GO!" echoed around his head.

And then, out of the blue, he saw a crowd. He was onstage, alongside his band, playing the guitar with everything he had. The song didn't matter - all he heard was the audience, their excited screams as they moshed and jumped and sang along to the unknown tune. 

Joe could feel the life draining from him.

But with his last ounce of strength, he forced his eyes open. Patrick was no longer on top of him - he stood next to the chair, directly above Joe, staring straight at him as he tugged harder at the wires. Joe watched as his best friend choked him to death.

He let out a final strangled cry.

The world became blurry.

His brown eyes met Patrick's yellow ones once more.

And with his last thought, Joe forgave him. For everything.

******

It was all so bright. All he saw was the light, blinking down at him, though its source seemed to flicker and change in his mind. But one thing remained a constant: the red tinge that the world now permanently wore. The blood-like crimson colour shone before his eyes. He felt anger and rage and the inescapable urge to HURT SOMETHING, KILL SOMETHING, KILL THEM, JUST KILL THEM NOW, JUST-

A sudden loud, whirring noise startled him; he crouched to the ground in sudden animal-like fear, his grip on the wires loosening. More colourful lights appeared through the small glass windows of the hospital room. 

The door was flung open. Two of those people from earlier burst in. 

Those people.

Those people...

But they weren't just those people, Patrick slowly realised. It was Pete and Andy. His friends. His band mates. His brothers. 

And then the anger faded. He stopped seeing the world in red. He was Patrick again. 

"Patrick..." Andy muttered, moving forwards a little unsurely. "Is that... Are you...?"

Then he stopped. Pete had grabbed at his hand sharply, drawing his attention away from Patrick. He was staring past the two entirely. Andy followed the bassist's gaze. So did Patrick.

And he saw. 

He saw Joe, lying on the leather chair, black wires wrapped around his body, wound tightly around his neck.

His mouth hung open. His eyes were wide, but they did not see a thing.

Lifeless.

"Patrick?" 

Pete was looking at Patrick, silently begging for him to please, please give some kind of explanation that he could comprehend.

Because it just couldn't be what it looked like. No.

Patrick couldn't have done this.

Except he had.

The wires were still entangled in his fingers. 

He let out a faint shout, hurriedly shaking his hands to get the fucking things away from him, throwing the wires to the floor like they caused him physical pain, before turning back to the chair.

"J-Joe?" he stuttered helplessly. 

"Patrick, it's not... It's n-not your fault, they did this to y-you..." Andy choked the words out, his voice trembling with repressed emotion. He kept looking like he was going to approach Patrick, to hold him, hug him, but every time he moved towards him, he would hesitate, freezing to the spot like a statue. The drummer was scared of him. His own band mate. 

_You're a monster, Patrick._

_He's dead because of you._

_You did this to him._

_To Joe._

_You killed Joe._

He couldn't stare into his friend's lifeless eyes any longer; he turned slowly away from the chair, sobs racking his body. 

"No... no, Joe... I'm sorry, please, no... I'm s-sorry... no... Joe..."

Patrick couldn't stop the endless stream of words from escaping his lips, he just couldn't. 

Looking up, he caught sight of Pete - covered in blood and scars, tear tracks making clear streaks down his dirty face. Andy had a hand on Pete's shoulder, looking for all the world like he was going to break down any second.

The door burst open once more.

"POLICE! FREEZE! HANDS IN THE AIR, ALL OF YOU!"

The three remaining men obeyed without question.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed! Kudos and comments are much appreciated :)
> 
> This fanfic is also on Wattpad.


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